


Just Another Day

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Category: Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Jewish Character, M/M, Panic Attacks, or anxiety attacks? i'm not really sure what the difference is tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you don't celebrate it, Christmas is just another day.</p>
<p>That's more than fine with Pickle Inspector, but this year, he'll have to explain why. Luckily, his boyfriend is understanding about the issue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day

You hadn't realized it had been anything other than an ordinary day until you walked into the building.

You make a habit of leaving the TV and your old radio off as soon as the snow starts falling, and sometimes even before. And it's not like you leave your apartment that often anyway, so you don't need to deal with the garish displays every store seems to set up every year. If the ordeals you and the other two men you worked with had shared just over a year ago hadn't happened, you could have gone straight to your office without ever having realized it was Christmas Eve.

But they had happened. So when you walked into the office building formerly owned by Mobster Kingpin, you were greeted by red and green streamers haphazardly strewn across the walls, a small, garishly decorated, plastic evergreen, and your two coworkers, both of whom were wearing tacky sweaters and matching grins, likely helped along by the half-empty carton of eggnog sitting by the plate of cookies on the table.

You took all this in for a while, fighting past the urge to just turn and walk out. Instead, you mutter a quick greeting to PS and AD, and abscond past them into your office, where you know for a fact there will not be Christmas decorations.

Your boyfriend follows you in, still grinning. He's a little tipsy, you can tell, but not nearly drunk enough to suggest building a fort yet. "So, Pickles, how d'you like the decorations? AD an' I, we thought we'd have a Christmas party later tonight. Wanted th'place to look nice an' festive. I know y'like your space, though, so I thought I'd just help you decorate your tree when you got in." 

He looks at you hopefully, those green eyes lighting up with happiness and determination, and you shudder. If you say no, you know, he'll just argue with you over it until you can't stand the confrontation anymore and say yes. Not to mention that this is the first holiday you'll celebrate as a couple, and you can tell that means a lot to him, even if it makes you want to bolt. You gaze longingly at the doorway.

He notices, of course. "Do you not want to do this?" he asks worryingly, and this is it, this is your chance, you can just say no and leave, but he looks so crestfallen-

You tell him yes.

\---

You spend a miserable half hour decorating the tree. The strings of popcorn, the tiny lights, the round baubles with little hooks attached to them - they're all foreign to you. You want to ask Sleuth why anyone thought wrapping food and plastic spheres around a tree and bringing it inside was a good idea, and also why he thought you needed four trees in the office, or any trees at all in the office, but you don't want to expose your ignorance of the subject. After trying and failing three times to get one of the round things to stay on an apt-looking branch (you swear the damn thing is laughing at you), you decide to let Sleuth handle that part and resign yourself to trying to untangle the lights. That, at least, is something you can do.

You're about halfway through that when Sleuth looks down at you from on top of the stepladder he'd borrowed and holds up two ornaments. "What d'you think, Pickle? Angel or star?"

You look up at the two objects dangling from his fingers. One looks like the dancer from a music box, but with wings and a tiny halo. The other is a five-pointed object covered in sparkly gold dust. Neither of them look anything like an angel or a star, and you have that on good authority, being one of the few people in the world who can say that you've seen both up close.

A tide of hysteria rises in your throat, too big to be fought down. You push the lights off your lap and scootch backwards, away from the hateful tree, pulling your knees up to your chin and beginning to rock slowly back and forth.

"Pickle?" He's looking down at you now, confused, and now he's getting off the ladder and walking over to you, crouching next to you, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch your shoulder but clearly thinking better of it. 

You wish he hadn't. You could use the grounding.

"You okay?"

You muster up enough self control to shake your head. "N-n-n-no."

"Okay." He pauses. "Well, I mean, not okay, I'm not okay with you not being fine, but - shit, this is coming out wrong, isn't it." Sleuth sighs, walks a little closer to you on his knees. "What I mean is, I'm here, okay? Whatever it is, I'm here t'help. Not gonna walk out on you or anything, that'd make me a pretty shit boyfriend."

He still stumbles on the word, you notice, and the thought makes you giggle a little. He takes that as an encouraging sign and finally puts a warm hand on your shoulder. You lean into the contact, feeling your racing, shuddering breaths slow down.

"Okay." He takes a breath, grins. "You gonna tell me what's wrong now?"

"D-d-d-d-don't like C-christmas."

"You don't - ?" It's obvious this was not the answer he was expecting. He stumbles for words. "Well, uh, shit. Sorry. I didn't know. Kinda just assumed - well, you know. Everybody likes Christmas."

_Everybody likes Christmas. Everybody likes Christmas. Everybody likes Christmas._

The words echo in your head, bouncing around and around your mind until you lift up your head and there it is, the pity in his eyes.

The hysteria slams back into your mind like a flood, and you scramble back, your own eyes wide. The tide in your head propels you onto your feet and out the door before you know it, and you don't even have the presence of mind to stammer an apology to Ace when you bump into him on the way out.

\---

He looks for you, of course, and, being a detective, doesn't take too long to trace you to your apartment, where you're huddled in bed under every blanket you own. He lets himself in with the key you gave him, and even if you hadn't been able to see anything in the universe from under your covers, you would still be able to deduce that he's bedraggled, wet, and looking very much not like the top sleuth in Chicagopolis from all the water dripping off his clothes. It must have started snowing while he was out. 

You don't mind too much, even though he's dripping into the carpet. It’s seen worse than water.

"Can I come in?"

"Y-yes," you answer, the word muffled by the pile of blankets on top of your mouth. You pull them lower, wincing as the colder air hits your skin. "Of c-course."

He takes a deep breath, nods, comes closer to sit on the bed. "Thank you."

You sit there, neither one of you able to muster up the courage to say anything. Finally, you manage to apologize. "I-I'm sorry. About before."

He nods. "I know. I'm sorry, too. I should have noticed you were upset."

He really should have, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that he came for you. He cares about your well-being.

Some part of you, a ruder one than you normally put up with, rolls its eyes and thinks, well, duh. He's your boyfriend.

You ignore that part without difficulty, allowing the warmth of affection for him to melt your frozen tongue. "I'm not- I-i'm not Christian."

"Is that what this is about?" Sleuth spreads his hands. "If it comes down to it, I'm not really Christian, either. I mean, you were created in a tube, right? Kinda puts a damper on the whole born-from-a-virgin-mother thing."

"N-no - well, y-yes, but I mean - " You sigh, gesturing wildly with your hands in an attempt to get your point across. "Y-you still celebrate, though. C-christmas. Easter."

"Well, yeah. So?"

"S-s-so I don't!" 

He looks at you, and you can see the confusion in his hunched shoulders and the way his eyebrows tilt. "Okay, and? Look, this isn't Prospit, you've got me an' Ace now. We can do it together," Sleuth adds hopefully, and you sigh.

"S-sleuth. I'm J-j-jewish."

"Oh." You watch as he backtracks, flailing for words. "Shit. Well, we can hang some of those Jewish star things around the office, if you want, and, uh, fuck, what do Jewish people do? We could get Chinese food or something. That's a thing Jewish people do on Christmas, right? And then later, whenever the fuck Hannukah is, we could celebrate that together. If you want."

"It's Chanukah, actually," you absentmindedly correct him, properly rolling the 'ch' in your throat so it makes the growly noise that always leaves your throat a little sore. "A-and it started December 7th this year. But Sleuth, that's not the p-p-p-point!“ You're practically wailing at this point, and you'd be mortified at how childlike you sound if it weren't Sleuth you were wailing at. "I d-don't need magen davids around the office, and w-we don't need to throw a Chanukah p-party next year, and you d-d-don't need to worry about buying m-menorahs or latkes or sufganiyot, or, or a Chanukah bush. B-but, um..." You trail off. "I don't- I don't know how to p-put this."

Sleuth's gone quiet, thoughtful. You think you might have finally gotten through to him, although he probably doesn't know what half of the things you've just said mean. A distracted part of you hopes he won't try to actually get you a Chanukah bush.

He moves closer to your head, poking up out of your sheets like a gopher from a hole, and begins running his fingers gently through your tangled hair. "Can you try?"

You sigh contentedly, eyes closing in bliss. God, you love it when he plays with your hair. "Um. It's like- it's like 'happy holidays'." His fingers stop, and you hold back a whine. That would be pathetic. "I-it- um, it sounds inclusive, b-but everyone knows it means 'M-merry C-c-christmas'."

His fingers begin moving again, and you settle back into your comfortable hollow in the mattress, emboldened enough to continue. "T-there are trees everywhere, c-c-covered in lights. W-wreaths on every d-d-door. Advertisements on the r-radio, even before Thanksgiving is over, and everyone expects you to sing along with the c-carols, expects you to know them. B-because everyone else knows them." Your voice gets quiet, and you hate the little tremors it carries, hate the way your fingers tangle in the sheets in an attempt to find something to do with themselves. "Everybody likes C-christmas."

"So, you don't like it because it's everywhere?"

"M-more than that." You shake your head. "Everyone seems so h-happy. They all assume you d-do the same things they do. Because everyone does them, except- except I d-don't. It's like, it's like I'm in a box, looking in. And when they find out -" You hum again, this time trying to find the words, and curl up against your boyfriend's hip. "...there's always this look, like they're p-pitying me for not doing what they do. L-like if I don't celebrate this p-pointless, stupid holiday, I'm - less, less th-than human."

His fingers tense against your skin, but he fights off the anger - anger on your behalf, you realize, reveling in the warmth this brings you - and continues running his hands through your hair. "'M sorry," he says, voice subdued. "I didn't think. I'll take th'tree out of your office."

You nod. "Okay."

His arms wrap around your torso and pull you up, then against his chest, and suddenly he's hugging you tightly against himself, chin resting gently on your hatless head. You flail your limbs, but manage to avoid breaking anything important (like you’d have the Vim for that anyway), and eventually wrap them around him instead. When he pulls back, he's smiling. It's a small one, but with his Pulchritude, even a smile of that size looks bright enough to power a light bulb. (You wonder absentmindedly if he would mind you rigging one up, just to see.) "You're still coming to the party, though. Right? It'll be small, I promise. Just you, me, Dick, Dame, and Broad."

You consider that. It would be nice to see Ms. Dame and Ms. Broad, and, knowing Sleuth and Mr. Ace, there will probably be some kind of alcoholic drink. If you get lucky, perhaps Sleuth will get a little tipsy, and you'll be able to take advantage of that with either a night in the Imaginary Realm or a night spent cuddling in one of your apartments. It says something about how much you enjoy spending time with him, now, that you're not sure which one sounds better.

You tell him that, not realizing that it probably makes no sense to him, until you say it and it's too late to take it back. 

He just smiles at you. This one could probably power a small city block.

"Okay," you say, instead of saying that. "I'll- I'll come."

Something in his eyes lightens, and his smile's intensity ratchets up another notch. "Knew you would." He glances at his watch. "We've still got two hours before it starts, though. Got anything you want to do?" One eyebrow raises flirtatiously. "If y'can't think of anything, 'm sure I could figure something out."

You wrap your twiggy arms around him and pull. There's no resistance, so he topples into your lap, and you flop the covers over him with a grin. "N-nap time," you tell him, and close your eyes.

He sighs, but presses a few buttons on his watch (probably to set an alarm), puts it on the dresser, and curls up against you. "Yeah, alright." Sleuth closes his eyes, cracks one open. "Love you."

"Nap time," you remind him, and he closes the eye with a grumble. When you're sure his breathing is steady enough to be mistaken for sleep, you turn and place a shaky kiss on his shoulder, then whisper, "I love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas season is... tiring, for me, to say the least. And there need to be more non-Christian character headcanons, so I killed two birds with one stone and got Pickle to vent for me a little.


End file.
